Occasionally
by remitto
Summary: Sometimes, all you've got to do is live. And love - that is, if you want to.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.**

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><p>Draco considers himself dumb. No, dumb wasn't the word…obnoxious, sporadic, gullible, and weak. His weakness was his weak and fragile body – despite being well built and trained, he found that standing up each day and finding the right insults to spit rather tiring.<p>

Draco also thinks he is a pedantic person. And even though he wakes up every morning not caring about the world, he takes time to make sure his laces are right over left, his hair is parted 2 inches from the left, and that his coffee is hot, not warm.

He likes to arrive ten minutes early, on time, never late. He doesn't like to be greeted in the morning, and hates it when people say 'Cheers', because they really don't mean that; people say 'Cheers' because they can't be bothered to say Thank You, and it's a good word to fill up awkward silences. He thinks that romance is a waste of time. He hates couples holding hands, because, hey, he's never going to hold one. He hates this, he hates that, and he thinks life is pretty much enjoyable, even with all his hates.

Draco hates the fact that Harry Potter had to save him in the Room of Requirements. He hates the fact that out of all the possible saviours he could've had, it had to be Him. He hates the fact that he is more than thankful, but has never said 'thank you'. He hates how she's turned into a real beaut, with high cheekbones and smiling eyes, and how he's never first. She beats him, of course, and then he gets to beat Weasley.

He hates the fact that sadly, this time, Weasley beat him.

And he loves the fact that he hates everything; it only gives him more reasons to be picky. And it was good to be picky, wasn't it; pickiness determines decisiveness, pointedness, and classiness. Draco Malfoy had to say that he was a _very_ classy man.

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><p>It was the second date that had ended in disaster - or so it seemed to her. She planted a kiss on his forehead, "Goodnight Ron," and went off to bed. He was sitting on the couch smiling rather goofily to himself, perhaps thinking, 'this is the best life can be'.<p>

It was their anniversary. She had expected a nice dinner, perhaps a walk in the park, and then wait for him to give her some sort of present (she felt like she was spoiling her imagination, but a girl can dream, can't she?). When he had turned up at her flat wearing a tux and holding a bunch of flowers, she had given the matter a little hope.

He had come to take her to a Quidditch match.

A _Quidditch _match. She had wanted to watch a film, or an Opera, or even better, to the reopening of Flourish and Botts in Diagon Alley.

He ended up downing one more Firewhiskey than normal and she had to take him back to _her _apartment, half dragging, half walking. They winded up at her flat at one in the morning.

She didn't talk to him for weeks. He didn't seem to mind, the indifference was mutual.

A few days later they were seen talking again, making amends. He said 'Hi…', she said 'Hey,'. They weren't best friends, but they certainly weren't lovers. Hands were not held, kisses weren't shared. She said she loved him, as did he.

The spark that had ignited in the first placed had disappeared, and God knows where. She vividly recalled the night of his declaration of love. It was upon a deserted Hogwarts balcony, and they kissed and kissed and kissed.

The thought was almost comical, really. That Hermione herself, who had read and knew all too well that fairytales weren't real, had hopelessly thrown herself into a happily ever after that wasn't happy at all.

But she strung along, on the rare occasion planting a chaste kiss on his chapped lips, squeeze his hand, gaze tenderly into his eyes. She'd stopped saying '_I love you' _a long time ago. It wasn't worth lying to her best friend. He didn't notice. Ron _was _Ron after all.

Ron proposed two weeks later, upon a deserted Hogwarts balcony.

Her tongue darted out of her mouth to wet her lips slightly - a sign that she was nervous.

"Wow, Ron, I - " hey eyes could only move as they followed his bending figure. The widened with horror.

"I've never done this before, so I'm a little nervous."

"Of course you've never done this before." she snapped back. Was he suggesting something?

"Erm, I'm going to start now." he cleared his throat once, twice, three times. "Marry me Hermione, just - just marry me." The air grew still, and there was a sharp intake of breath. Loud enough to fill the silence, soft enough to be inaudible.

The lack of sound made up for her lack of answer.

"I know this is rushed, but, I, I, I, honestly, do love you." Still, there was silence, and she felt that she couldn't have been ruder. Ever.

He turned, disappointed, discouraged, and disapparated on the spot.

Draco had witnessed the entire scene, on the opposite, deserted, Hogwarts balcony - The Astronomy Tower. Regally sipping his firewhiskey and wondering about where the Draco constellation had disappeared to for the night, he thought himself funny.

There were better things to do than watch Weasel King fail.

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><p>When employing, Draco looked for punctuality, efficiency, and accuracy. Nothing irritated him more than a late coffee (which ultimately meant that it was <em>warm <em>not _hot_, and he hated that), or a wrongly counted bill, or the mail not showing up.

Draco had told himself that he didn't need a secretary. He was more than capable of organizing his own business and taking care of everything. Or so it seemed that way for the first few weeks. The papers were everywhere, the bills were wrongly counted (arithmancy had never been his strong point), and all this business meant getting his coffee and forgetting about it, so in turn when he had time to drink, he found that his coffee had turned _cold. _A disgrace to the name of coffee, really.

His building manager had offered the notion of having a secretary many times, and he had declined fervently. In less than a week he was running full speed back to his office and begging for a PA.

Turns out that the building manager didn't have anyone good in hand.

Draco got bespectacled Becky, a mumbling, nervous wreck that looked no older than eighteen, fresh out of Hogwarts, he presumed.

"This was the best that we could find," he was told. It seemed that it was better working alone in fact, but then, two heads were better than one, and sometimes he could have done with a little help.

It was the second week of hiring Becky that she arrived.

"Welcome to Malfoy Trade and Investments Ltd. How can I help you miss?" The woman smiled, reminiscing.

"It's Malfoy Trade and Investments _Limited_, but no matter, it doesn't make any difference anyways." she paused. "Mr. Potter called earlier today for an appointment with Mr. Malfoy, am I correct?" Becky fumbled through the papers, trying to find the right one.

"Oh, yes he did, just let me find...that paper...where's that paper? I had it here a minute ago..." and there she was off again, nervously rambling, not making sense.

"No problem. Becky is it? Just leave a message to Mr. Malfoy that we wish to meet him at the Three Broomsticks in half and hour, rather than in five minutes."

"Sure, sure...pen...I need a pen..." the woman merely plucked an elegantly designed fountain pen from her robe, and handed it to Becky.

"Keep it, I'm sure it'll come in good use." Becky looked slightly aghast at such kindness, she put on a toothy smile.

"You are Miss...?"

"Granger."

Oh holy Merlin's holy beard. He vaguely recalled Harry calling him earlier that day, but he didn't know that _she _was coming! Hermione nodded her thanks at Becky and turned to leave.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger just turned up to-"

"I heard."

In a swish of robes and expensive dress wear, he disapparated.

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><p>They met up in Borgin and Burkes half an hour later, Harry clad in his black auror robes and Hermione in a delicately trimmed navy robe. It was amazing how the colour complimented her skin.<p>

"Draco, I take it you've met with Hermione?" She flashed a greatful smile. He swallowed, suddenly dry.

"She's met with my secretary Becky, am I wrong? I apologise for my lack of appearance. I was...busy." she laughed.

"I'm sure you were." Harry coughed to get back to the point.

"As you can see here, we've a few articles of your father's, sadly, he is not with us today, and we have no means of returning them to him. He didn't even leave a will, which surprised me a great lot, so I asked you to drop by, in case you wanted any of these." Harry gestured with his hand to some of the dark objects on the table.

"Give them to the ministry." he paused, "Nothing my father ever owned had any sentimental value. It's yours to take." Harry's eyes widened.

"Are you sure? Some of the artifacts are quite rare, and this diary..."

"Use it for research purposes. Father's no longer around to write in it anyway, I can't imagine what load of rubbish might be in there..."

"Well then, I'm sure the Ministry will put them into good use." There seemed to be a shift in atmosphere, the room suddenly felt very oppressive. Hermione spoke for all three.

"The Three Broomsticks is nearby, should we stop over for some Butterbeer?" The men were out of the room before she had finished.

_Boys._

They made small talk for the next half hour. How've you been? How's business? I'm very well thank you. No not at all, it's quite a pleasure... and so on. She made the first move to leave. He spoke up quickly.

"This has been great. Would you like to come over to the Manor? I'm sure we could talk some more-" the smile left her face. An excuse was just there...

"I've got a busy schedule, oh, look at the time, I'm sure we can catch up later can't we? Sorry Harry, you go on-"

"I've checked your timetable Hermione, and you've never been a good liar." He cut her off. Hermione looked at Harry incredulously, didn't he just get it that the place haunted her for more reasons than just the mere presence of _Draco?_

_"_I - oh - I - well if you insist-" exasperated.

A voice cut over the bickering best friends.

"I insist."

Surprising, but tolerable. She sharply withdrew her hand from Harry's, straightening her poise, building up her guard.

Maybe it was the years, she thought.

That's right, she thought, it had been the years that changed Draco Malfoy.

_Right?_

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><p>Second chapter coming soon (:<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.**

A/N: Here's the second chapter! I plan on doing a chapter a week, but it may take up to two.

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><p>She vehemently refused to enter that room. They nodded in understanding, but yet, not understanding at all.<p>

Malfoy Manor had that gracious, Victorian feeling to it – this was emphasised by the spacious rooms and intricate ceiling patterns. It was a wonder to look at, really, it was majestic yet mysterious, and held that eerie quality to it that made it all the more intriguing to look at.

New memories only did too well to bring back old ones – but was _that_ even considered a memory? She had made sure that she convinced herself that it was a mere _event_ that happened in her life, an insult to her pride, a fragment of an evil imagination.

Time and again, constant reminders jolted her back into this harsh reality – no it wasn't just an event, no it wasn't just an insult, no it wasn't just the fragment of an evil imagination.

It was a reminder – no, a _label_.

Actually, a label wasn't exactly the best way to put it. It was a trigger for emotions, a replacement for the words, the words that cut like knives and did more harm than an ill screamed '_Crucio!' _

She fingered with the buttons of her jacket. The room was almost still, slightly shaking at the quiet chatter of the men; she didn't hear a thing, only the distant – yet definitely audible – thud of her quaking heartbeat. She was in bloody Gryffindor for Merlin's sakes, a simple fear wasn't something that defined a person.

Or in her case, she felt that it did.

"Hermione? Hermione? Earth to Hermione?" Harry waved a hand in front of her eyes. She glared angrily and he cowered.

"Sorry Harry," she said, "I was miles away. Do go on."

They continued walking until they encountered a sharp turn and a long corridor.

"This is the East Wing. My parents used to reside here. I lived in the West Wing." The high ceilings and spacious atmosphere swallowed up the sound of their footsteps, and spat it back out again - echoing.

"This is the drawing room."

The drawing room.

_"Answer me! Crucio!"_

The drawing room.

_"That sword is supposed to be in my vault at Gringotts! Where did you find it? Who did you take it from?"_

The drawing room.

_"Filthy little mudblood."_

"It's recently been renovated, so it may appear... different to when you've last seen it." He directed Harry over towards a table. Hermione stood frozen in the doorway.

"This table has been passed down the Malfoy line - very old, very rare, I can only assume how much it's worth now."

"This is the chandelier from the Living Room. It's been repaired after that... untimely accident."

The chandelier.

_The chandelier. _

_Knife on flesh. Knife on neck. Blood._

_"Stop!"_

"Stop!" The description of the room...the description! It only added to the painful experience of vivid memories. The word rebounded off the walls, echoed in the room, giving a new definition to the word 'Stop'. She absent mindedly fingered the scar on her neck - the word on her arm...

"Stop." softer now, "I'm afraid I must take my leave, gentlemen." What was with the formalities? "I'm feeling a little ill - it was good to see you, Harry, Malfoy."

She disapparated on the spot.

Harry turned around, uneasy.

"She has a-" he searched for words, "a memory, of this room. Uhh-" the name, that woman, "Bellatrix. You know?"

There was an understanding.

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><p>For the first time after that day - for the first time in six years, she broke.<p>

She broke - shattered, and the memories played one after the other, one after the other.

_"Crucio!"_

She screamed.

_"Crucio!"_

"Hermione? Is that you? Is something wrong?"

Ron was in the house? Since when did Ron ever come to her flat?

And he wasn't alone.

A new voice.

A _female _voice.

"Who is it Ron?"

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><p>Before she was broken.<p>

Now she was broken, viciously torn apart, and sewed back together again with large, loose seams. She decided in a change of outfit - it was no good sobbing and crying in work robes. Opening the cupboard, she was all the more disgusted when a piece of ripped lingerie fell out.

"Ron, you vile, perverted, cheater..."

It only reduced her to more angry sobs.

"Ron!" she screamed. The vase met its untimely fate when it was suddenly thrown into a wall. "I hate you Ron! I hate you! Go away! Get out of my life!"

Ron wasn't there to here her. No one was there to hear her. Only the walls and the carpet, and they only echoed her words back to her. It amazed her how much this act of cheating unnerved her. She was supposed to feel relief - relief that she didn't need to carry around false appearances and pretend that she loved him.

But then...

"This won't do." she muttered to no one in particular. Pointing her wand at the broken shards of the Vase she whispered, "Reparo."

It was she that needed the most _Reparo _in all.

Crying over him was no use. All she needed to do right now was pick herself up, dust herself clean, and reread "Hogwarts: A History" until her mind was so clouded over with facts that she couldn't think straight. That's right, she thought, all I need is some hardcore studying.

She desperately needed a coffee.

Ahh, a coffee. Such pleasure in smelling the bitter aroma that worked to spark her senses, and on the other hand, give her that calming sense of relaxation. A coffee would fix everything. Perhaps.

If a coffee could fix everything, she wouldn't be having this internal conversation. She placed the hot mug on the table, a sigh escaped from her lips. She just needed a day off, she was working too hard, on top of all her work there was Ron, and now, there was Malfoy.

The way he looked at her today definitely irked her a bit. There was a new intensity to his stare that almost startled her, but then, he appeared almost indifferent to everything, working mechanically...almost.

There was a sharp rapping sound at the window. It was Fowler, her Owl. Upon retrieving the letter from the Owl's beak, she was surprised at whom it had come from.

_Granger._

_I am very sorry for your absence. I hope that whatever ails you may become of better in your leave. Potter mentioned some...points about the room. Again, my apologies for the misunderstanding._

_We require your presence for Lunch tomorrow. Potter and I have some important issues to discuss, and we would appreciate the company._

_With all due respect,_

_Malfoy. _

To say she was stunned at the letter would be an understatement. Never, in her life...

The letter was really something. She had never seen or heard him give such a detailed apology. Hell! She had never seen or heard him give any sort of apology! Hastily, she scribbled a reply.

_Malfoy,_

_I am feeling very well, thank you for the consideration. Yes I will be able to come for Lunch tomorrow. May I ask of the time? And Venue?_

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Granger._

Giving Fowler five knuts, she sent him off, hoping to get no reply - the day had been eventful enough.

She thought before that it was perhaps the years that changed him. But years weren't that much - the years hadn't changed her that much, and instead of changing her for the better, her character had turned for the worse. She was now an introverted, confidence lacking young woman that had no idea where her life was heading.

Maybe it was something else then, and whatever that may have been, she hoped that she would never find out.

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><p>He thought that maybe the letter was a little too nice.<p>

He had gotten a reply in almost no time. She was at home then? Would it be strange to pay a visit? Of course it would, his mind chided. They were almost strangers, knowing everything about each other yet having no idea what they were like now.

The letter read:

_Malfoy,_

_I am feeling very well, thank you for the consideration. Yes I will be able to come for Lunch tomorrow. May I ask of the time? And Venue?_

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Granger._

Oh right, he had forgotten a venue. Lunch. He needed something classy - The Malfoys were people that didn't go for anything worse than the Best. French dining, perhaps. There was a quaint little restaurant hidden in the far west corner of Wizarding London - perhaps that would do.

_Granger,_

_There is a fine restaurant serving French Cuisine that I know of. I am not entirely sure of its name, but its whereabouts are known to me. We should meet at half past noon, if that's okay with you. I'll notify Potter._

_Malfoy._

Feeding his Eagle owl a treat, he sent it off with the letter.

She had been pretty edgy - she lacked the courage he had always known for her to have.

Surprising, but not too much. It was a wonder that Weasley's proposal hadn't affected her quite that much, although she was positively shaken by the matter. He could tell from her voice, it sounded shrill sometimes, and other times it sounded scratchy. He could tell from her appearance as well. Gone were the rosy cheeks and fair skin - she was now replaced by a pale complexion that could match his, but it gave her that...deathly Veela beauty. A Snow Queen, perhaps?

His imagination was doing strange things today. _He _was doing strange things today.

Maybe it was just the way her eyes flickered with fear outside the drawing room. Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the fact that they hadn't seen each other ever since that fateful year when the wrong was put right and the dawn brought a new day.

Draco Malfoy hated love. And he had to make sure that a certain bright eyed and bushy tailed (well in this case, hair, but it wasn't so bushy anymore) witch wouldn't get in the way.

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><p>Hit the blue link below (: Review!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot**

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><p>Although it wasn't all that much of an occasion, Hermione found herself smoothing her skirt over and over again – taking second glances at the mirror to check up, fidgeting with her hair, and straightening her coat.<p>

Oh come off it, she thought. It's only Harry and Malfoy.

It's only Malfoy.

But that was the thing, _because _it was Malfoy… and the way he made her feel so _cheap _and _middle class _when he steps out in his tailor made suits and his slick combed hair. The way the money jangled in his pocket, the way he walked in long, elegant strides, the way his poise was enough to make Hermione look like a mere commoner.

But she isn't a mere commoner. She is Hermione Granger, war veteran, brain of the Golden Trio, and supposedly ex-girlfriend of Ron Weasley, and a fragile young woman who is losing herself to the clutches of confusion.

She wouldn't let it get that far. Picking up her wand, she disapparated to the Ministry.

Years later she would scold herself for being so pedantic about the whole thing – it was just a lunch, and really, there wasn't much to it that required professionalism.

Harry was waiting outside her office door when she arrived. Clad in a navy dress jacket and black slacks, she thought he looked rather dashing despite his short figure.

"Ready to go?"

"Mmm."

No, not ready to go.

"Where's lunch at again?"

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><p>They were early. Five minutes early to be exact.<p>

"You're early."

"I'm always early." she snapped.

True, true.

"So why did you want me here today again?" It was a while before any of them attempted to make an answer, Harry shifted in his seat.

"Its about...Ron."

His voice was muffled by the comfortable hum of the restaurant. He swallowed. Ahh...how was he going to explain it again?

It was about Pansy...yes, this would all be about Pansy, nothing really. Then why was his back suddenly stiff and his hands involuntarily shaking?

Her smile, "What about Ron?"

The men exchanged glances.

"I-"

"He-

"Of course you know that I was acquaintances with Pansy...and-"

"And Ron's been seeing Pansy behind your back-"

"And I think he really loves her-"

"And he tried to propose to her the other day-"

"He what?" The smile left her face. It was going to at some point. "So you mean, he, Pansy? He knew I was going to decline the proposal? He knew! All this was for show, wasn't it? And at my flat...that was Pansy? Pansy was at my flat? My flat!"

"Pansy was at your flat?" Harry asked.

"What was Pansy doing at your flat?" What _was _Pansy doing at her flat? Unless...

She was positively shaken, he could tell by the way the color left her cheeks and the words leave her mouth. There was stuttering.

"When did you find out?"

It was a quiet, scared voice - almost shrill, and he didn't like it one bit.

Trust the best friend to do the condolences.

"Hermione, we know you love him a lot-"

"That's not it." a breath, maybe two, "He lied to me. Ron lied to me."

"Pansy told me yesterday. Slipped her mouth. We were having coffee at the Manor, discussing business, the Malfoy heirloom, etc."

They were quiet - and he felt the incessant gnawing at his stomach because of the silence. They made small talk, ate quickly, and all too soon it was time to part ways.

No one moved.

"Well." said Harry, "I think its time for me to go. It's been nice meeting both of you. Hermione, _please _take care of yourself." she flashed a hesitant smile.

He disapparated, which left the two of them there, awkwardly acknowledging each other's presence. She sipped her coffee, he folded his napkin.

There were no words, only the wringing of hands and the bitter taste of words left unsaid. Breathing came naturally, but in that instant, it was a bother for both of them. She was taking sudden shaky breaths and he wasn't taking enough.

He spoke.

"I'm sorry."

She replied.

"I'm sorry too."

And in that moment, everything that had ever happened between them seemed to disappear like sun on a winter's evening.

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><p>She couldn't believe it.<p>

Ron would never lie to her, never! It was something lovers never did...

But they weren't lovers, and maybe she was doing some lying of her own too.

_"I'm sorry."_

_"I'm sorry too."_

Something about that simple conversation irked her to no end. Was there a mutual understanding? A forgiving, perhaps, a time of repair and a time of atonement for the years that were left untouched between them.

What was it about Malfoy that had her on edge for the past couple of days? It wasn't like he had offended her or anything, it was just him _being there. _

Of course it was the years, she reminded herself. She was twenty-four now, hadn't she been only seventeen when she last laid her eyes on him?

Seven years. It had been that long?

There was a sharp rap at the door.

"Hermione? You there?"

Ginny. Marvelous, wonderful Ginny.

"Coming Ginny." And she was on her feet again, bounding, happy, home. Maybe it was the fact that they had been so close as to call them sisters, or maybe it was the fact that she was her best friend's sister, and best friend's girlfriend.

Wrong, her _ex-bestfriend's _sister.

But none the less, a sister anyway.

Ginny came into the room, all limbs and heart warming smiles. They made sisterly chatter as they settled into the room, unpacking the bags, making tea - it was all part of the act of feeling at home again.

She was hoping that Ginny wouldn't bring it up. Hoping that Harry hadn't told her.

"Harry told me about Ron."

Damn.

"Oh its nothing, I'm perfectly fine, see?" A complete lie, and she knew better than to lie.

It surprised her most when fresh tears splattered the carpet.

"Oh Hermione..."

She hadn't realised that she had fallen forward into Ginny's arms, crying, feeling the hole eat up her heart a little bit more. She hadn't loved Ron, she hadn't...but why were the days without him agony, and why did she feel like that there was nothing left?

Maybe she loved him...a little bit.

It was the best that sisters could do. Hug and smile and pretend it didn't affect the the way it did.

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><p>Draco was fairly convinced that he had been offered Head of Finance because of his love for money, not because of his love for sums (and there was a great lack of that), and because even with his indifferent disposition and his bored attitude, he could still make heads turn and shadows cower. Head of Finance was given to frumpy old ladies with O's in Arithmancy and didn't mind if their coffee was cold.<p>

He sure was grumpy, and it was his birthday, but no one bothered to acknowledge it, and the migraine had been killing his head for days now.

A coffee. I need. A Coffee.

"Becky, mind my office, set no appointments, I'll be back in ten." Ahh, screw the ten, maybe give it thirty...

The walk to the cafe was strenous. Bits of debris lined his shoes, Christmas Carols were sung, and people wouldn't stop staring. To hell with walking, he thought, and apparated suddenly.

The cafe was full. Damn, he had been looking for some 'alone' time with the Prophet and a hot mug of cappuccino. It didn't take long for his sweeping eyes to set themselves onto an empty seat, and he found just what he was looking for, except...

The table was occupied by Granger.

Surely after yesterday she had accepted him as an acquaintance? Oh definitely not friends, they were far from that - but surely, an acquaintance?

He sat down anyway.

She looked up, startled.

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

An uncomfortable pause.

"I don't recall inviting you to coffee."

"I don't recall either."

At least she didn't deny his existence.

"This is _not _a date." she clarified.

Ha, so she was scared of the notion of having a date. Perhaps he'd try asking her sometime

"Oh no - I don't even like you enough to call this a date." She didn't reply, sipping at intervals. "So what brings you here?"

"What do you think? Coffee, of course." she said. "What brings you here?"

"Coffee, of course."

"Why my table?"

"It was the only free table."

"In case you haven't noticed, it's currently occupied."

"Yeah, because I'm sitting here."

He fiddled with the galleons in his pocket, selfishly enjoying the presence of another human being, absent-mindedly fidgeting with the buttons on his jacket.

"So you come here often?"

"Often enough. You?"

"Becky gets my coffee for me. I hardly ever get time to sit down myself and enjoy it." Until today, that is, he wanted to say, but it would seem a too friendly gesture.

The invitation in his chest pocket itched.

Don't scratch - she'll look.

"So what's it like being Head of Finance?" He was so caught up in worrying over how to give her the invitation that he hadn't notice her place down her mug and open her mouth to speak.

"I uh, what?"

"What's it like being Head of Finance?" she said, annoyed now.

"Refreshing. Keeps me up to date in my calculating." she snorted.

"I had expected something like 'Head of Finance is a breeze - I have coffee everyday and dump the workload on my secretary.'" he cocked an eyebrow, slightly infuriated, but more or less amused.

"Are you suggesting that you don't have coffee everyday?" she chuckled lightly.

"You pick up on the most absurd of things, Malfoy." she glanced up from the Prophet, "I do have coffee everyday - not that it would do you any good anyway."

Perhaps it would - he'd just have to make time to take a coffee everyday.

"Always at this time?"

"Always."

"So then it wouldn't surprise me if I came again tomorrow, at four, and see you sitting here, sipping coffee?" Her eyes widened slightly.

"Malfoy, are you asking me out on a date?" he chuckled lightly.

"You pick up on the most absurd of things, Granger." he shifted back in his seat, "And if it would settle you somewhat, no, I am not asking you on a date." But he definitely would've liked it to be one.

"And besides, it's my birthday today, can't you guarantee me some sort of answer?"

"Answer to what?"

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

She frowned slightly, pursing her lips.

"Yes."

"Good." Reaching into his pocket, he plucked out the invitation, "Potter wanted me to give you this." and slipped it under her plate. Taking advantage of her concentration in opening the envelope, he disapparated.

He hoped she didn't notice.

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><p>"Good." she watched as he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a rather elegant looking envelope.<p>

"Potter wanted me to give you this." Harry? What did Harry want to give her?

It was an invitation of sorts, with embroidered trimmings and flowing cursive.

_You are invited to the annual Malfoy Ball._

_The Ball will take place at Malfoy Manor and begin at 7 o'clock sharp on the 19th of September._

_RSVP to Draco Malfoy by the 10th of September._

_We hope to see you there._

The 19th of September.

19th September.

Her Birthday.

"Uhh, Malfoy, what's this got to do with Harry? And it's really kind of you to ask me, but it's on my birthday, so I'm afraid I won't be able to make it-"

He had already gone.

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><p>Third chapter is finally up! Don't expect the fourth chapter to be coming any sooner either - school work is pretty busy<p>

Review Please (:


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot**

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><p>"You have to go!"<p>

"No."

"Come on, Hermione, stop being such a prat, I _know _you want to go." And then, "This couldn't be because of some childish rivalry, is it not?"

She had hit it right on the spot.

"No, of course not." A complete lie, and Ginny knew, "I just don't want to go. And besides, it's my birthday."

"But it's a _ball!"_

"But it's _Malfoy_!"

"Who cares about Malfoy? The fact that he even invited you is surprising enough – you have to go! You do know how rude it is to stand up a gentleman?"

"Malfoy's not a gentleman."

"Jerk, gentleman, same thing, and besides, isn't Harry going?"

"Harry's going?"

"Of course he is! Why would he invite you and not Harry! It was Harry himself that told Malfoy to invite you!"

She contemplated over the matter. Harry had convinced Malfoy to invite her?

"Is Pansy going?" Ginny opened her mouth to speak, and then quickly shut it again. "And if Pansy's going, Ron's going as well right? Together right?"

"Hermione…"

"I'm not going."

"We've had this talk so many times! Forget about Ron, for once in your life, do something that you're going to enjoy, and not because someone else is forcing you!" she wanted to say that Ginny was forcing her – but she had lost one best friend already, and it seemed that everything that left her mouth these days had negative connotations attached to them.

"I'm not going to enjoy the ball."

"You will! You love festivities, you love occasions like this, remember the Yule Ball?"

"Ron spoiled it."

"Well screw him!" she said, exasperated now. "I know he's my brother, but he's a complete and utter idiot that doesn't think twice about whatever he does. And even if you don't _want _to go, can't you go for me then? I wasn't invited, and _I_ _really _want to know what the Manor looks like…"

Ahh, so everything Ginny said was revolved around her in some way or another. Feisty little redheads…

But maybe she would enjoy herself. And besides, Harry was going as well, so if all else failed, surely she'd be able to turn to her best friend and let him do the condolences? But she wouldn't tell Ginny that. Not until she had convinced herself that it was easy to forgive and forget.

It was a stupid theory, forgiving and forgetting. By all means would she forgive, but to forget? That would be an insult to her memory.

"If it's for you…"

"You'll go? Thanks Hermione! I love you!" said Ginny, and she whirled around and disappeared into the green flames of the Floo network.

The Ball was in two weeks – she had two weeks to remind herself that she was Hermione Granger, not Ron Weasley's ex-girlfriend, not Draco Malfoy's sworn enemy, but a brave, proud, acknowledgeable Muggle that brought light into the world and silenced the Dark night.

* * *

><p>Day after day the sun shone, and the grass whispered, and the sky smiled. Day after day the coffee came back cold, the bills were left undone, and his migraine got worse.<p>

Day after day drew nearer the evening of celebration, which according to his principles would be an evening of professionalism – in no way would he lose himself to the clutches of festivity. There was a giant red circle around the 19th of September, exclamation marks were possibly needed as well, to remind himself that the event was indeed up and running, and that there was no way he could escape it.

It was pain, really, having to plan all this in a matter of two weeks. Pansy was invited, and he was more than certain that she'd drag along Weasley with her. Had it been such a good idea to invite Granger after all? He couldn't be sure.

Hell, he couldn't be sure of anything now.

The clock struck 3:59pm. Without thinking, he disapparated to the café.

She was sitting there already, fourth table from the front by the window, with the Prophet propped up and a steaming mug of chai latte cooling in front of her.

He sat down.

"You're on time."

"I'm always on time."

"Hmm."

The fact that they could strike conversation so easily was new to him – hadn't they been enemies only seven years ago?

Seven years, almost a decade.

Almost a decade of his life had gone by and he had made no move to change anything.

Draco Malfoy was a man that didn't believe in change. Wasn't everything better staying the same? Apparently, not everyone was thinking along the same lines as him, otherwise he wouldn't have remembered that fateful year when the war broke and change was on its way.

Change also brought something new this year. Change brought Granger, and he liked to think that it was a good change.

"Are you coming to the ball?"

"Possibly."

They drank their coffee and lapsed back into silence.

"You do know that it's on my birthday, right?"

"Of course."

It didn't take long to find out when her birthday was. One trip to visit Potter and all the details were clarified. He vaguely remembered the bespectacled wizard asking why.

He wouldn't have been able to give an answer.

It was the beginning of September, but where had the breezy autumn gone? It was freezing, dammit, and he edged closer towards the table in search for warmth. She glanced up from his movements, tossed a curl of hair back nonchalantly, and continued to read.

"You're in the paper."

"Oh?"

"_Malfoy makes millions._ Knocked up some rich girl again?"

"Something like that." He smirked. "No actually – I released a new budget policy, and apparently it was brilliant. The Minister paid me his gratitude."

"Oh."

She looked like she was going to say something, but no words were spoken.

"So are you coming to the ball?"

"You asked me that already."

"You didn't answer properly."

"I said '_Possibly'."_

"I don't accept Possibly's."

"This is coffee, Malfoy, not after school detention with McGonagall."

"So will you come?" Infuriated, she placed down her paper, shifted in her seat and turned the full force of her stare at him.

"The invitation clearly stated that I can RSVP _by _the 10th of September. You didn't outline that I had to RSVP the immediate second time I saw you."

"I am now."

"Uh," she huffed, "You're insufferable."

"I think you're confusing me with you."

"So if I said 'Yes, I definitely will go', you'll leave me alone?"

"Maybe…but at least I'd give up asking."

"Okay, I will go. Happy?"

Happy wasn't the right word. Relieved, pleased, he didn't know. This was new to him. He shrugged and tipped his head in reply.

"Am I happy? Hmm…Possibly." Her hands fisted around the paper; it was an obvious the amount of effort she had to keep her wand snapped by her sides, rather than pointed at him.

"Shut up. I'm trying to read."

So they had snapped, so they had changed – but in that dusty, warm, crowded café space, the years didn't matter, the differences didn't matter, the last names didn't matter. It was almost as if the friendship that they had involuntarily shared had reignited the peaceful rivals between them. And it was okay, to say the least. It was okay.

And he found that he was almost – _almost, _enjoying himself.

* * *

><p>The effort put into the decoration was enormous. He found himself yawning time and again, his mother yapping at his ears, his back hurting from reaching.<p>

And this is what I do for my mother…he thought.

With a quick shake of head, he reminded himself what tonight was going to be about. Strictly business and professional, and maybe he'd earn a few partners in the process. He'd introduce himself to a couple of money lenders and image consultants, perhaps organise a new tax, and make sure that the Malfoy name would be redeemed.

Of course, the process of redeeming took more than one night, but at least he could give it a try.

And other than that, there weren't really many things that could trouble him at all. The ball would proceed smoothly like year after year and perhaps he'd have to take Pansy to the dance floor again.

Oh wait, she was with the Weasel now. He let out a sigh of relief, almost as if it were a 'thank goodness…she's taken'.

There window let in a slight breeze, the decorations shook slightly, and the room was quiet.

Quiet except for his heartbeat; it was loud all the time, constantly thudding, quaking with each breath he took. The process of redeeming was a painful process

There was the feathery drape of a bony hand across his brow, and a ruffle.

"I'm so proud of you Draco."

Thanks mum, he thought. But there really wasn't much to be proud for. He had wasted seven years of his life doing nothing other than work, how was this year going to be any different?

* * *

><p>It was ridiculous, really. She promised herself that she would never use Sleekeazy after the Yule Ball. It was infuriatingly difficult, messy, and wasted half her bloody time on what could have been a great day for researching.<p>

Too bad, she thought, I'm doing this for Ginny.

Ginny had been an ecstatic mess when Hermione agreed to go. It had taken her bribes of books, a chance to see the new 'Flourish and Bott's' and a trip to Paris to get her to going.

Ginny said that she'd come in time to prepare everything.

She was half an hour late.

Hermione hated lateness.

The floo network sprang to life in green flames, and Ginny stumbled out, slightly bewildered by the bumpy ride. She dusted herself, disgusted.

"Goodness Hermione, haven't you at least started your hair? You do know that you only have three hours left until the ball, and you've done nothing but read? How can you read at a time like this!"

"I can read whenever." Ginny huffed and made an attempt to look cross. It didn't work. "And besides, you told me to wait for you to get started. Hermione had expected her to scold, or even yell at her with some mundane excuse, but to her wonderment, she laughed.

"Oh Hermione...did you really want me to wash your hair for you? Come on, you're not five, into the shower you get."

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><p>Turned out that Ginny was right. It had taken her one and a half hours to get her hair into a manageable array of curls that almost…<em>flowed <em>down her back. She hadn't felt so pretty in years. The makeup, she had decided, she'd do herself. Merlin knows what she might have ended up like if she let Ginny anywhere close to her face.

And then came the dress.

The dress she thought was complimentary, it looked alright. It certainly was an elegant piece of fabric, but she didn't dare admit it. She hadn't worn anything so elegant besides her work robes, and those she considered as her most beautiful article of clothing. It was a black satin bias cut with a low back and high top, and she thought she looked alright.

Well, she hoped she looked alright – this was three hours of her goddamned time.

With a tentative glance either way, she stepped into the chilly breath of the night and disapparated.

Yes she was nervous, yes she was slightly frightened of the Manor itself, but hey, she was Hermione Granger, nothing could bring her down tonight.

She'd just have to tell herself that repeatedly the whole night through, and then maybe, _maybe, _she'd find herself enjoying it.

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><p><strong>Fourth chapter finally up! <strong>

**Read and review :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot**

**A/N: Fifth chapter may be subject to change...**

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><p>The number of guests that he had actually invited surprised him. He really didn't recall inviting the Minister of Magic or Blaise either, but then, Blaise tagged along on occasion possible. And he had invited Pansy of course; it was the duty of best friends and all that.<p>

He didn't even know why he agreed to Potter's idea of inviting Hermione.

They weren't even friends.

Well he might have felt that they were friends…

But then, he was feeling a wide variety of things now.

The guests first started arrive about quarter to six, filling up the Manor function room in seconds. He wanted to make himself scarce, but decided against his better judgement. So he stood by the door, a face of stone, a posture of stone, and proceeded to invite everyone in with his typical Malfoy disposition.

And then she arrived, and his guard was let down for a split second.

The sight of her brought memories of the Yule Ball, how she had walked down those steps so regally and so confident, her periwinkle-blue dress doing all sorts of things to his imagination.

Only this time it wasn't periwinkle blue, and she wasn't walking down the steps confidently.

It was black, and he did say that it rather appealed to him (black wasn't his favourite colour, but it came close), and she was walking up the steps – timidly. It took a while for her to reach the entrance, and by the time she did, he was so certain that she was shaking in nervousness and in anxiety that she might as well apparate home.

Well, too bad she was in Gryffindor – she stayed right there and flashed him a tentative smile. He nodded back.

He could already see some of the women admiring her dress, it was, he hated to admit, very well done, and fit her nicely.

So Granger had taste in fashion.

Slightly surprising, but at the rate that she was maturing, he would have expected no less.

He didn't even know what he expected.

Pansy came in soon after; her hand firmly clasped around the Weasley, and dropped a kiss on his cheek. He blushes – how disgusting, red cheeks to match the red hair.

"Pansy."

"Draco! It's so nice of you to invite me – I know you're not on such good terms with Ron, but you won't mind? He looks so totally dashing in his suit and I made his hair just right and oh! Did you invite Hermione? I wanted to go and say Hi." She smiles widely.

So this was interesting, since when did Pansy get over her mudblood hatred? She detested Granger in school.

"Uhh, yeah. She came just a few moments ago." And she was off, happily dragging a bewildered Weasley.

Smart move, Pansy, he thought. Smart move.

And with the final guest in, he made his way to his room, getting ready to be scarce.

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><p>She knew no one, besides Harry, but he was too busy introducing himself to goodness knows who that she didn't even get a chance to say hi.<p>

The ground beneath her feet felt cold.

Actually, the whole Manor felt cold, even with all the guests and the rumble jumble festivity.

Many men approached her and she had declined politely every time, casually taking glances around the room, sipping her champagne, and silently eavesdropping on select conversations. Her eyes landed on a familiar figure.

Ron.

And he wasn't alone of course. Malfoy would never in his life invite Ron to any sort of function.

Attached to his hip, literally clinging to his arms was Pansy fucking Parkinson.

She waves him over, out of her kindness, and selfishly appreciates the 'just shit my pants' look that's plastered over his face. Pansy turns over, and breaks out into one of the most heart warming, cheery smile that she's ever seen.

She's surprised beyond belief, and shakily, she smiles her own small smile.

"Hermione! It's so good to see you! Ron's been telling me all about you, how you're head of trade and everything." Ron paled significantly, and his eyes averted the situation.

She didn't know what to say.

"Uhh…"

"Wait here Ron." And with that, she hooked her arm through Hermione's, and smiling nervously and began to drag her off to someplace somewhere.

She did have to admit that maybe Pansy was good for Ron. In the years that they had been together, Hermione had been too soft, never giving criticism, either constructive or cynical, and she never scolded him. She feared that harsh words could bring him down like they brought her down. Well in Pansy's situation, that was not the case. She continuously scolded him for sloppy walking, sloppy eating, sloppy posture, and Pansy was a woman that was far from sloppy (maybe her attitude, but years of solace and remembrance had made her soft – the war did that to people), and Ron was taking this step by step, progressing slowly, always willing, always open.

And she liked that. She liked this Ron.

And maybe, she thought, maybe, Pansy wasn't the person she had thought she was.

"We're here." Her voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Goodness, it was strange to think that they were still in the Manor; Pansy had situated themselves on a quaint vintage looking round tea table in a garden, the rusting edges bringing out that classiness that the Manor possessed.

She brushed wisps of black hair away from her face, and began to talk.

"I'm not here to say sorry."

Okay then..

I'm not sorry for teasing you, I'm not sorry for being Ron's girlfriend, and I'm not sorry for causing grief and misery to all your friends. I'm a conceited person, rather stubborn and picky, and I don't say sorry unless I absolutely have to."

Conceited. That was a funny way to describe Pansy, but nevertheless it suited her.

"Sorry is a big word. Sorry means that you're forgiving and you're forgetting; I don't do forgiving and forgetting. Sorry is like, oh I don't know, like say when you've done something and you're really sorry for it, you say sorry as a confirmation that it would never happen again. Goodness, listen to me, I sound like a lecturer! I'm not even giving you the chance to talk…"

"That's fine. Keep talking."

"As I said, I don't do forgive and forget. I can't guarantee anyone that I won't do something again. All I'm saying is, that after all these years, after all that's ever been misunderstood, after all that's happened between us, I hope that we can come to some sort of understanding and put our wrongs behind us. And when I saw Ron, and the way his eyes shimmered when he said your name I just – I just couldn't bring myself to hate you anymore, you know what I mean? I really love him. I really do. And it's not like I've really hated you – it was probably a just a mixture of dislike and jealousy."

Hermione didn't do forgive and forget – to forget some of the things Pansy said to her, to forget that sneer and that snarl, it's basically saying that you're not acknowledging the past – it would almost be like saying that Voldemort never existed.

She smiled.

"Well I'm glad that we've got the confessions all over. And I too, I don't do forgive and forget, by all means do I forgive, but never forget. I've never really hated you either, so to speak, well, not as much as Malfoy. And Ron, he really is something, isn't he?"

And with that, Pansy engulfed Hermione in a hug that said everything that she didn't say.

"I'm not someone that says thank you much either – you'd probably be one of the first that openly admitted to…so thank you."

Hermione still uncomfortable, untangled herself from Pansy, still a little disbelieving that this was actually happening. If only Dumbledore could see this, she thought. This would be the greatest example of inter-house unity yet.

"So…enough with all that sorry nonsense. Tell me how you got to know Ron."

Pansy blushed slightly and began mumbling all sorts of incoherent nonsense, tripping over her words, blushing more, switching between scenes, it was hard to keep up with. And Hermione found herself relaxing a bit more, enjoying the evening a bit more.

Just a bit.

And the moon twinkled its own little smile and shone down on the two almost-friends.

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><p>Draco was beginning to worry. It had been almost an hour since he spotted Granger or Pansy, and his brain was running around in circles thinking about the things that they could've done to each other. Hexes were the least of his worries – both women were skilled in the arts, it was the verbal abuse that he worried about.<p>

Women and their tongues.

It unnerved him to see them walk into the function room arm in arm, chatting like old friends. To say that he was surprised would be an understatement. The night was full of surprises, it seemed.

There was the sound of a clock chiming, of glasses clinking, of rushed goodbyes and heated arguments.

He hadn't even realised that it was nine already, he'd spoken to three people, two solicitors and an image consultant who was disgustingly snooty. His night of professionalism went rather well, and although he didn't make much progress, he thought he enjoyed being the host and the loner at the same time.

The guests began to leave. Shacklebolt first, then followed by Golden boy, then various other people that he had no idea he knew. The function room emptied, and he prepared himself for a long and arduous night of filling submissions.

That was when he noticed her.

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><p>She had to admit, it was a pretty impressive piece of art. It was a bit too dark for her taste, a bit too complicated, but the masculine quality gave it that strong appeal that made people stop and stare at it.<p>

It was a painting of the war-ridden world, full of dark skies and dying stars. There was an army standing atop a hill, searching, just searching, and you could almost hear the quiet of the night, the way the world seemed to stand at a still, waiting for the next move.

But Hermione knew that the war-ridden night was far from quiet. It was loud, with the sound of flashing hexes and estranged cries, of grieving family and maniacal cackling. It was the sound of death and destruction and damnation, and she felt oddly pleased that she had made it through the madness that was illustrated on that framed canvas.

A voice startled her.

"My mother paints in her pastime. It's what keeps her sane nowadays."

She nodded, the loss of her husband would have made a significant impact on her life, even if he _was _Lucius Malfoy.

"It's beautiful."

"It is."

They were quiet, quiet like the dawn of a new day.

He shuffled his feet and she coughed, the silence becoming a little heavy.

"I can show you more of her works, if you like." She turned around to smile.

"I would."

"Some can be quite confronting, just to let you know." His footsteps echoed in the corridor. It was late, but she didn't care. Right now they were going to look at his mother's paintings, and that was all that mattered.

There was a whole room filled with the paintings. And yes, they were quite confronting, some of Lucius Malfoy slowly writhing in pain, many of the war, but most were confusing bursts of abstract anger, and dark, dark, sorrow.

She didn't even realise when tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill over. It didn't go unnoticed, he turned to glance at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling the pain and loss resounding in his own heartbeats.

"He may have been Lucius Malfoy, but he was my dad. I loved him."

A Fatherly figure was something one could never do without. A father provided the family with a hard, consistent stability, even if it were brutal or abusing, and with a good father, one could be sure that no fear need to come to then - they had their father.

It was true. He may have been Lucius Malfoy, and despite having hated his presence since that very day Draco stepped into the school, he was a father to him, and a father at miss. She was sure that in better times, they would have enjoyed times together like family, doing things normal wizards would, and there wouldn't have been all this pressure about social status and blood status.

Might have been, in a time parallel to ours and light years away.

The clock chimed - reminding them of its presence and signally the lateness of the night. Her head lifted up, startled and she let go of his hand.

"It's late. I best be going." She patted his shoulder and backtracked the way she came. Pausing momentarily at the door frame, she snuck one last glance at his lanky form spoke.

"I don't particularly like waiting, or cold coffee, so make sure you're on time tomorrow."

And she thought she saw the faint outlines of a smile slowly gracing his face.

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><p>Review (:<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Again, I don't own anything but the plot**

**A/N: So sorry for the late update! I'd been pretty busy overseas and didn't bring my laptop with me. Will update with seventh chapter soon!**

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><p>There were records to be broken. She was surprised to find him bustling in at quarter past four that day – it had been fifteen minutes late. A record.<p>

"I thought you had died and gone to heaven."

He laughed. "Unfortunately, that won't happen until I'm old and bitter and lonely in my deathbed."

She bit her lip. "There was a flaw in my statement. You can't go to heaven – someone like you, I should've known, it's hell that's really home for you, isn't it?" He laughed more. Another record.

"Point taken. I won't be late again."

"You'd better not be. I was going to leave. What were you doing?"

He frowned slightly and hesitated. "If you must know, I was making dinner arrangements at Madam Puddifoot's."

She quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who's the lucky girl?"

He smirked. "Not telling."

"Not telling, huh? Nothing gets past me, Malfoy."

"I know."

"Then tell me."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Malfoy…"

"No."

She pouted slightly, a little setback with her defeat. They sipped their coffee simultaneously, brooding.

So Malfoy had found himself a girl. A friend? A stand-up bitch? A fiancée? It really didn't matter, but the more she thought, the more the idea branded itself into her mind, nagging.

It had to be someone she knew. Someone she knew, and someone possibly close to her…if not, why wouldn't he tell? He was a Malfoy, and she was a Granger, and it really wasn't his manner to be humble and secretive, she'd expected that he would be bragging about the notion. But then, it really wasn't her manner to pry, and she was imploring.

Truth to be told, they were both a bit out of character on that wet, foggy afternoon. Years later, she would blame it on the dismal weather, and he on the lateness of the arrival.

The rain fell on the window, private accompaniment for their wild, wild thoughts.

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><p>Blaise paced. "Let me get this straight. You invited <em>Granger <em>to dinner."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah...and?"

Blaise laughed. "You like her."

He whipped his head around, eyes ablaze. "I so _do not _like her."

"Draco likes Granger. Draco likes Granger. Wait till I tell Pansy. She'll have kittens."

"Blaise..."

"I'm willing to bet that she's going to turn you down."

"Blaise!"

"And if she turns into another Astoria..."

"Blaise!" Heat flooded his face. "This is different, okay? Give me a rest."

He was completely surprised when Blaise overwhelmed him in a hug that Slytherin's didn't exchange.

"Poor boy. You're in love."

He didn't say anything.

"Spill."

"You're not my confessor..."

"And I never will be. But I'm your best friend. That's close enough. So spill."

He didn't know how the words found him that afternoon. It had something to do with the moderately classy taste of Blaise's furniture - a homely style that reminded him of himself. Perhaps it was the companionship, and the loyalty, and the feeling that words themselves could shape a story and shape a person, and maybe that was how he came to tell.

"I'm calling Pansy right now." Finished Blaise.

* * *

><p>She was sure that she had read and reread the letter enough times to have it memorised.<p>

_You were wondering who I was going to invite to Madam Puddifoot's._

_I wouldn't have told you even if the world was going to end._

_I couldn't have told you; that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?_

_You're good with logic. Figure this out. _

_1. A one worded question that addresses all topics._

_2. The tone of surprise, or of defeat, or of resignation, or of disappointment._

_3. The person being addressed._

_4. Naturally, as might be expected_

_The answers are my answers._

_Regards,_

_Malfoy._

The questions left her puzzled. The answers appeared incoherent.

1. Why

2. Oh

3. You

4. Of Course.

It was only when the light bulb flickered and the room grew dim that she collapsed on a sofa, disbelieving.

_Why? Oh you of course._

_Y O U Of course._

_You, Of course._

* * *

><p>"Might I tell you that I hate Madam Puddifoot's. It's pink, and too cliche, and we'll look like lovers."<p>

He panged.

"It's got great tea and food. Isn't that enough? And besides, it cost me a fortune. Reservations are hard to make."

He could immediately tell that she felt embarrassed by the way her fragile hands made their way to her face, smoothing back her hair, ducking her head. She mumbled softly, almost inaudible. "You could have told me."

He smirked. "As I said, surprise, surprise." And it was a surprise, for both of them, really. Surprise that he had actually invited her to dinner, surprise that she had accepted, surprise at this attitude of elegance she held when she dressed up properly.

He hadn't witnessed something so beautiful in a long time.

Well, ever since that ball of course, but a man needs his share of beautiful women, and there weren't many around this day.

"I was considering the Manor, but then I thought-"

"Oh, no, Madam Puddifoot's is fine. I think we'll just eat here."

So it was true - her fear of the Manor was still obviously in place.

"My house elves can make better food than at Madam Puddifoot's, they're highly qualified and-"

"I wouldn't want to tire your elves. They can have the day off."

"We could be more comfortable there and-"

"Malfoy." There was wavering, and her words were choked, "I don't want to go there."

Daring to push it, he ventured. "Why?"

She paused, long enough for him to come to an answer. "You know why."

And at that precise tick of the clock, the quiet evening had been ruined, and they both knew. He cursed himself for his stubbornness, she for her lack of courage.

They ate and talked. And talked more. And talked well into the night, well past the moon called curfew, well past the closing time, and they talked more, walking on the streets, sitting on the benches, staring at the sky.

The talking closed up the wounds of the ruined night - and made things seem almost - just almost - perfect again.

He walked her home.

"Tonight was good."

He saw her give a tentative smile, and nodded in agreement.

She spoke, brave as ever. "I like you Malfoy. I like you when you're nice. I like it when you're all shaky and quiet and not arrogant. I like it when you ramble on and on as if you don't care what I think or what I see. It's a nice change. I'd like to think of it as a nice change."

He felt little heat rising up, silently grateful for the shadows the moon cast.

He offered his hand. "Friends?"

She shook it. "Best Friends, and till death us do part."

* * *

><p>"Little birdie told me you had dinner with Malfoy yesterday."<p>

"Hmm."

Pansy tilted her head, brandishing an all-Slytherin smirk. "Aren't you going to ask me who it was?"

"Do I need to know who it was?"

"Do you? I don't know." Hermione threw her hands up in defeat.

"Enlighten me. I don't feel like thinking today."

Pansy laughed, a raucous laugh, much like Ron's, she thought. "It was Blaise. He thought I was going to have kittens. Turns out that it did nothing to surprise me."

"Surprise you? What?"

"Draco was a bit flustered after the appointment. Said he didn't know what to do. So he told Blaise. Blaise told me. I'm telling you." She paused to let this all sink in. "He was surprised that I wasn't surprised," she laughed more, "I'd been expecting this, really. It was about time that rascal did something."

Confusion wasn't something that got the better of Hermione, and when it did, it sent her mind into uproar.

"Pansy, what are you on about?"

Pansy only smiled. "Honey, you are so blind."

"Blind?"

"About Draco."

"Draco?"

"Yes! Draco! Do you have to repeat every thing I say?"

"No, but I still don't get what you're talking about." There was a loud derogatory comment and some strict admonishing. Their attention was torn away for a split moment, long enough for the information to take hold of her and shake her into reality.

Holy. Shit.

Pansy seemed to notice, casting a knowing look her way, but made no attempt to disrupt her of her thoughts.

"Actually, don't tell me about Draco. I'd rather not hear it."

"If you say so. Just telling you what I know."

They talked a bit more over light snacks and sips of tea, the hours flew by and the afternoon glowed.

"Goodness, would you look at the time! I've got to go - Malfoy would be wondering where the hell I've gone to if I don't show up."

"What? What's this?"

"Haven't I told you? We have coffee everyday at four - although I think a weak mocha would suffice for today, too much caffeine already. See you soon, Pans!"

And she disapparated, rather appalled at her stupidity and at Malfoy's stupidity.

Hadn't she made it clear from the first few days that love was something that she had bundled up and thrown away? Hadn't she desperately drilled into her mind that it was something wrong, something cruel and unforgiving that deserved to be locked away in the very fathoms of her heart?

Life made sacrifices, love was indeed one of them, and it was something she was not ready to sacrifice yet again.

Why then, all of a sudden, was she willing to let herself to get lost in another happily ever after, that had no guarantees of happiness at all?

* * *

><p>It startled him to find her sitting down in the chair opposite - almost as if she'd always been there.<p>

"Sorry I'm late - I had tea with Pansy, you know she won't shut up."

He quirked his eyebrow. "Pansy?"

She nodded. "She was telling me some rather interesting news."

Rather interesting news...could that possibly mean...?

The look in her eyes said it all too well.

Yes, yes, it had been.

* * *

><p><strong>Read and Review (:<strong>

**A/N: I'll be wrapping up this story soon - crappy chapter, but I'll promise that the next one will be better!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.**

* * *

><p><em>He quirked his eyebrow. "Pansy?"<em>

_She nodded. "She was telling me some rather interesting news."_

_Rather interesting news...could that possibly mean...?_

_The look in her eyes said it all too well._

_Yes, yes, it had been._

* * *

><p>He chugged down his coffee in one swift movement and proceeded to leave.<p>

"Look, I'm sorry about today – got heaps of paperwork to do and a large order's coming in. I'll catch you later."

She looked slightly disappointed. "Yeah. See you."

Coward, he thought. Big, big, coward. But nonetheless, the close expanse of space between them would only make things more awkward, that is, if she knew precisely what Pansy knew.

And what did Pansy know, for that matter? How much had Blaise told her? Hurriedly he walked to the apparition point – suddenly queasy. It wasn't long before he felt the squeezing sensation and his feet were safely back on carpeted ground.

No safer place than his office, even if it was occasionally inhabited by his secretary (who proceeded to make a living out of watering the indoor plants. Merlin woman – the plants water themselves). A turn of the key and a click made sure that he was now barricaded inside his own office.

Good. It was a perfect closure for his wild, wild, mind.

A rap at the door disturbed him from his thoughtless (and rather stupid) daydream of coffee and naps all day.

"Mr. Malfoy!" said a muffled voice, "You've locked yourself in!"

No shit Sherlock.

"I know Becky. What is it?"

"A letter, addressed directly to you, I was wondering if I should open it for you, you know, in case there's a jinx or something, could've come from the Weasley's store, you know? Horrible stuff they've got, really horrible, might even have a –"

"Becky, shut up and give me the damned letter. If it's addressed directly to me, then give it directly to me. Understood?"

"But Mr. Malfoy –"

"You're my secretary, not my mother. Now open the door and come in before I hex you."

She looked at him as if he'd gone crazy.

"You've locked the door from the inside."

He sank further into his chair, resting his forehead on the table. How stupid was he going to get today?

* * *

><p>She'd admit to herself that she was happier than she had been in years - but the reason, she'd never come to believe.<p>

The past few days had been unprofessional, purely casual and free roaming, and the schedule and order felt right at home for her. Being the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation ensured that work was non-stop and full concentration was required.

A perfect distraction for the mayhem of the past few days.

Love? Coffee? Social outings? She was a businesswoman for Christ's sake! She wasn't supposed to have a life!

Life it seemed, wouldn't let go of her. She'd spent seven whole years trying to protect life itself from the dark clutches of death and destruction, and now, she was taking it for granted. The things that Peace did to her mind.

A testimonial came in through the fax, followed by another work resume (yes, the fax, some muggle inventions just couldn't be replaced by magic). A quill lay delicately balanced on her index finger as she contemplated in the quiet of her office.

This thing with Malfoy, whatever it was, wasn't supposed to be happening. No matter how much of a gentleman he was, or how much he'd changed, or the fact that she had blurted out herself that she liked him as a friend and that she liked the way he changed and...It was an overload, even for her mind.

Her eyelids shut, separating her from this mad world.

* * *

><p>There was the sound of crunching bones beneath his feet.<p>

What was he thinking? It was the remaining January snow...but somehow, that pure, cold, white mocked him. We live in a world filled with sin, he thought. What's with this white? Alas, he was walking on bones.

She'd cancelled the coffee. They were supposed to be friends, and yet - this distance wasn't normal. He had hoped for more chances to meet up, for more chances to remember her face, the contours of the skin, the grace of a smile on her lips...

It was unhealthy, this liking. It wasn't typical Malfoy behaviour. But then, the Malfoy name had been so stamped with shame by both communities that there wasn't an image to uphold anymore. A Malfoy was just a name, just something to call someone, no different to Potter, or Weasley, or Granger, for that matter.

He was surprised by his own change of heart - and these sudden realisations, epiphanies, this woman was doing things to him even in her absence.

Yes. Absence. There was a great deal of it. It had only been a week, yet...

Perhaps it was because of his lack of friends and companionship. Hell, she'd been the only true friend that he'd made on his own and despite their backgrounds, he was beginning to like her best. More than Blaise, more than Pansy. It appeared that the only people he had truly cared about and seemed to reciprocate his feelings pulled in him, and pushed him away. His mother was the first, then came Nott, then his conscience, then Granger.

He was a misunderstood boy back then. People pitied him, and they pitied him still.

An old snowman sat perched atop a molehill of snow.

It mocked him.

This is life, said its smile.

* * *

><p>"It's been a while."<p>

"It has."

"How's work?"

"Work is work. And you?"

"Nothing much." a pause. "I say we meet up. Have coffee at four."

"I can't - I've got a bill coming from the Bulgarian Ministry this afternoon and I need to run it over with my-"

"No you don't. I checked your timetable."

"How do you have my timetable?"

"Potter."

"Hmm?"

"Boy who won't fucking die."

"Oh. Harry."

_Damn that bastard._

"Fine. Same place? Same table?"

"Always the same. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I'll see you then."

"See you. And Granger?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't try lying, I can tell even through the phone."

Brilliant - she was going to have a life today.

* * *

><p>He sits down in the seat opposite hers. It's a minute until four o'clock. They talk.<p>

"It's sad, really. How it all comes down to this."

"To what?"

"This. You have coffee as an excuse of a life, I have coffee to run away from it. It's a reality that we share."

He can hear her eyes rolling.

"You're such a sap, Malfoy."

"It's true though, isn't it?"

She doesn't say anything, and he knows that she's stumped.

"Possibly."

"You've holed yourself up in your office, wherever it may be. You're hiding."

"Let's just have coffee."

"No, we have to talk."

"Malfoy-"

"You're the only friend I've ever made, and possibly ever had. And I-"

"There's Blaise, and Pansy-"

"Well they're friends that are family-based, so I guess you can't really call them friends-"

"Family based friends are still friends."

"You're getting off the topic."

"What is the topic?"

"Granger..."

"Look _Draco. _For starters, if we want to be friends, lets call each other by our given names. It makes more sense. Secondly, lets stop pretending that we have anything in common, because we don't. I wanted to be your friend because you're someone who I think could be great friend, different, but great, if you wanted to. But you know me, I have my insecurities and you have yours, and sometimes...sometimes I..."

"Fine then, Hermione. You could at least tell me why you were holing yourself up in the office, effectively, _hiding_ from me. And why you cancelled our coffees, and why you stopped contacting me, and why you...you just left me there, telling me that you were my friend and all that nonsense, because if you are, _prove it._"

She pauses to sip her coffee. It's gone cold.

"Given our history..."

"Our _history? _Is that really what you come up with?"

"Draco-"

"Our history is history, okay? I know we're not exactly bread and butter or anything for that matter, but why can't you forget and move on?"

"I don't do forgive and forget Draco! I don't forget! I don't forget the years between us that finally managed to convince me that I was a mudblood!"

"That's stupid Hermione, this is childish nonsense-"

"This isn't stupid!" she lifts a trembling pale hand to her neck. "You see this scar? You see this? My poor dirty blood could have been spilled all over your living room floor that day, and you stood there, and just...just-"

"That was years ago-"

"Let me finish!" a breath, "This is why! I'm scared, Draco! I'm not heroic Hermione Granger anymore. I'm just Hermione Granger. And you've got to understand that this," she motions her hand between the two of them, "Whatever this is, I'm not used to it. You've got to give me time."

He's silent. And for the first time, she's silenced him without a witty comeback or some verbal abuse. She's silenced him with this beautiful, naked, truth.

"You're scared."

"I am. Very much so."

"Of what?"

"I'm scared that...if this, becomes something more, if what I know about you is what's truly real, then I won't be able to take it."

"And what do you know about me?"

She turns her head away, embarrassed.

"I can't - I can't say."

He rests his head on his palms, elbows digging into the table.

"Well lets give it a try then, shall we? If it becomes something more, it becomes something more. We've got to start somewhere, right?"

He reaches out a hand across the table, a gesture of start-overs and amendments.

She spoke. "So if-"

"You've honestly got to stop saying if. It's an unhealthy habit."

A fortress of silence guarded their many secrets. She cast wary eyes on the hand that lay outstretched on the table. Her fragile hand stirred in her lap, but nothing more.

"I promise I'll start my life if you promise to stop running away from yours."

"Deal."

"And Draco," her hand reached over and clasped his, an unbreakable seal, "If I happen to fall in love with you, don't blame me."

* * *

><p><strong>Lots of dialogue in this one : I can see where this is heading now...**

**Reviews appreciated!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot**

* * *

><p>There was a pregnant pause before he knocked.<p>

A resigned sigh and coughing answered him before the door clicked into open.

She had guessed his arrival. Was his ego that inflationary? "Malfoy, what on Earth are you doing here. It's half past eleven."

"I was bored."

Frankly, it wasn't the best answer he could come up with at the moment, but yes, he was very bored.

"I don't live in an amusement park."

"And I live in the Manor. Let me in."

She frowned a little. "And you're very demanding. Come in."

He crossed the threshold. It struck him how feminine her home was. He saw her glancing at him taking in the state of the room.

"Sorry, I've just moved in. Please don't injure yourself on the boxes." One foot in front of the other, hands on hips. He almost chuckled at the schol girl Hermione resemblance. She spoke again. "What do you want? Tea? Coffee?"

He walked straight over to the mantel piece. Positioned neatly on top were a series of photographs.

"My parents."

He nodded, gesturing to another one.

"Las Vegas, I was fifteen."

"I haven't been anywhere outside of England. It's disappointing."

He saw her chuckle lightly and mutter. "I would've suspected that the Malfoy family had gone to many places. It seems that wasn't the case."

His smirk leaked onto the furniture. "And this one?"

"Sixth year, before I left for Hogwarts."

"This is…?"

"My home."

There was a distinct silence that smelt like nostalgia. Or maybe sentimentality. Or maybe, loneliness?

"What about this one?"

"Seventh year, this was the night before I'd leave and never return. Mum took a photo of me every year before term resumed. It was a sort of tradition."

"You haven't returned?"

He watched as she fingered the mantel piece, seemingly trying to pick at a piece of hardened candle wax.

"No, I haven't."

Feeling brave, he pried on. "Why?"

Her fingers seemed to have stopped their incessant picking. She motioned towards the couch.

"Have a seat. It's late. I'm sure you're tired."

He sat down. The couch was surprisingly hard, contrasting with her soft, feminine home.

He felt cold.

He watched her slow swinging steps as she walked to the kitchen. She was humming something. The light followed her into the living room as she placed two steaming mugs of hot black tea in front of them.

Tea, this was a change.

"I guessed that it was a bit too late for coffee. It's black tea, hope you don't mind."

He smiled before replying. "I happen to like black tea."

The room smelt like cinnamon and crackling fire. He studied the design on the mug, watched the clock tick, looked around the room, adjusted his seating.

He was feeling uneasy. The room made him feel awkwardly comfortable.

"Is it too stuffy in here? I can imagine that the air circulation in the Manor would be pretty good."

"Quite the contrary. It gets too draughty at the Manor. I like cosy."

"And here I was under the impression that you were always the cold-hearted serpent that detested anything warm and Gryffindorish."

"Your room doesn't resemble Gryffindor at all."

"It doesn't? I thought perhaps the red, the gold…"

"You've got my mother's taste. It's nostalgic."

He sipped his black tea, contemplating. Her voice cut through the silence.

"The reason why I haven't returned to my previous home was because there's nothing to return to. Before I left to join Harry and Ron in search of the Horcruxes, I obliviated my parents and made them move to Australia. I tried to reverse the charm, but I didn't want to do it. They were too happy in their new home.

"The day I returned back to London, I heard that they were killed in an accidental drive by shooting."

He watched her in her struggle.

"They were sitting on the veranda. Drinking tea. According to the neighbours, the last thing they said was, 'Wouldn't it have been great if we had a daughter though.'

He watched her quaking shoulders, one part of him obliged to comfort her, the other to feel the bitterness of dejection.

He sat beside her. And waited.

She seemed to want to keep her distance. That was alright - this thing, she mentioned, whatever it was, was indeed new to both of them. Slow and steady was alright-

She collapsed on his shoulder.

_And maybe_, he thought, _maybe, I could get used to this._

* * *

><p>A waxed stamp sealed the letter in a dangerous promise.<p>

It felt like burning paper, of bitterness. The harsh sharp edges cut into his skin.

Written in an elegant hand were the words:

_To Malfoy, of the past and the present._

The wax bore the emblem of the Nott family.

Curious.

It revealed to be a pathetic death threat.

_Malfoy,_

_It strikes me how much you've changed. Really, you're quite the gentleman._

_Still, if you keep up that appearance of yours, you're going to frighten everyone away._

_They're all scared of you. All scared of you._

_Scared._

_Just like Granger, she pities you because she's scared. It's all pity Malfoy. It's all pity and no love. _

_You remember my sister? Quite the lady. And no, she's not blonde. Since changing appearances is all the rage nowadays, how about you consider the marriage proposal?_

_That's right._

_Unless you've got yourself a girlfriend already? Not Granger I hope? _

_It's all pity Malfoy. Just pity._

_Sincerely,_

_T. Nott._

It was funny yet disturbing. No one pitied him. Pity was for the weak and the stupid, for the ailed and the mindless, for the temperamental and the sentimental.

He scribbled a reply. It was barely legible.

_Nott,_

_Your lack of education speaks volumes. I'm afraid you've got everything mixed up._

_People either despise me or downgrade me. There's never any pity._

_Pity is for you, Nott._

_Sincerely Yours._

_Malfoy_

* * *

><p>In blunted grey pencil markings, she wrote.<p>

_I'm not scared of you._

* * *

><p>The ceremonial gala. Delicately balanced in one hand was a slim glass of pinot noir. Not the best choice, she'd admit, but it went with everything and didn't make her tipsy. It was too formal for champagne.<p>

He stood a few meters away, scrutinizing her under his feathery fringe.

She chatted idly. The event was boring.

Somehow, in the midst of her half nonchalant, half contented and dismissed trance, she'd ended up on the outside veranda. The air was slightly chilly, and she regretted for not wearing her longer black number. But it was refreshing, and the inside room was getting quite stuffy.

He came to stand next to her.

"Thanks for inviting me."

She smiled a little.

"You don't have to thank me. I wanted to. It would be quite disrespectful if the Golden Trio didn't invite their arch-nemesis, wouldn't it?"

He chuckled low.

"Am I still your arch-nemesis?"

She cast a stray glance his way. "What do you think?"

He paused, thinking. "No?"

A smirk dripped from her lips. "Wrong."

"Oh?" He inquired, amused.

"You were, are, and always will be an enemy of mine. And in more ways than you think."

"Really? Care to share?"

"It's a long night."

"I've got time."

She laughed.

"You know one reason why you're an enemy of mine. The whole blood status thing still gets to me. Not that I mind the word 'mudblood'. It's the word 'pureblood'. Because honestly, after knowing you for fourteen whole years, I can certainly say that you are not pure."

"Granger, I'm as pure as the sky."

"The sky rains. And occasionally there is thunder. And dust storms."

She saw him shuffle closer. Just a little.

"Then tell me the other reasons."

She smirked again. "Do I have to tell you?"

He turned around and faced her, arms pinning down on the veranda. She was effectively trapped.

He breathed. "Yes."

"Then how about I sum up the story for you? It'd be much more interesting that way."

Feeling confident, he leaned in closer, his own smirk rivaling hers. "Please do. I'm dying to know."

She looked thoughtful and mumbled. "You make me fall in love with you, you egotistic ferret."

She wasn't entirely sure of who moved first, but what little distance existed between them had closed. His lips brushed against hers, testing the waters, tentatively trying for more. And somehow, she found her hands wound up in his hair and his hands circled around her waist, merging two into one.

Their silhouettes cast a single shadow.

And when they broke apart, his staggered breath mingled with hers, and she was feeling that everything would finally click into place.

In the background, "_Let's give it up for our heroes! Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger!"_

Abruptly she pushed away.

_Harry Potter. Ron Weasley._

_Harry. Ron._

All the dignity and courage she had built up had faded away. "I'm sorry." she said, tears blurring her vision. "I - I can't."

And she ran.

* * *

><p>She found him a week after. And she was determined to run.<p>

"Hermione..."

"Don't. I can't."

"Hermione, this is stupid. You've got to-"

"I told you already Malfoy! This, this thing, like I said. I don't know what it is! I can't do it!"

"Hermione-"

"I mean, it's you! And Harry, and Ron, and the manor, and the drawing, God, I don't even want to go there-"

"I've told you a million times! It's about time you start living, a relationship is based on your bloody history and your friends. Can't you make up your mind about something without linking it with _those two?"_

"Those two are my friends! Are you saying that I just forget everything that we've ever done and go out with you?"

"Technically, yes!"

"You're despicable Malfoy! I've got morals to live to, and standards, and I've got a whole persona that I've got to keep up. I've got to-"

"You're saying that you're going to let yourself be miserable and live because you have morals to live to? That's it? That's the only fucking reason you can come up with to end what we have? Because this is something different? Because I'm different?"

She didn't say anything.

"You said that you loved me yesterday."

"I was tipsy."

He threw his hands up in surrender.

"Fine! You can go live by your bloody rules and morals and I won't give a flying fuck about your friends, your work, your _life._ And you know what? You can stick that egotistic and smart head into something that is actually worthwhile in life, and, oh, yeah, owl me when you decide to start living, yeah?"

He walked away.

"Malfoy, please..."

He turned around before the apparition point.

"And you know what? I fucking love you Hermione. I really do."

And she cried.

* * *

><p>For how long she cried, she didn't know. For how long she drank, she didn't know. All she knew was that she drank herself to the point of confusion and it relieved her. The arrival of the post kept her up to date with the days of the week. She stopped going to work.<p>

It had been the visit of Ginny when Hermione realised that something was actually amiss.

Ginny had frantically taken her to St Mungo's to get the liters of alcohol pumped out of her. She felt empty. The relaxing burning sensation had gone, her source of freedom taken away - alcohol relieved, revived, and revoked.

The day she was discharged, Ginny urged her to go to the Manor.

And that's how she ended up here, nervous, slightly scared, and pressing the doorbell.

He opened the door after several minutes of wait.

There was a bitter pause.

"It's you."

She looked down.

"Yeah. It's me."

He made some sort of abstract gesture of welcoming her in.

"The one day I don't wait for you in the cafe you show up at my door. It's been easy for you I suppose."

She didn't say anything.

"It hasn't been easy. I was so happy, and then you came about and completely complicated my life."

"The living room is stuffy. Let's talk in the drawing room."

_The drawing room. _She visibly stiffened. He saw her discomfort but neglected it.

_That's right. Feel my pain._

After sitting down awkwardly, he continued.

"Your life has always been complicated."

"This room..."

"Deal with it."

She turned her head, trying to divert her attention.

"Malfoy, I-"

"Cut the crap and get to the point. If you're going to talk about your non existent life, you can leave."

His breath smelled like firewhiskey. Had he been drinking too?

"The day you left I screwed up my life. I drank. I was half passed out on the couch when Ginny arrived and took me to St Mungos. They had to pump out five litres of alcohol from my systems. I was going to drink myself to death.

"Nothing I've done has ever pushed me to my limits. This time though, after that day you went and..." she paused, "...walked away, I completely broke down. And I'm normally the sane one.

"What I'm trying to say is that I really need you. I need you to be here. With me."

He was silent.

"Honestly Granger, don't expect me to bend just like that. If this is what you came to say today, you can leave. Thank you for coming."

She silenced him with a kiss.

His lips were still, rigid whether it was because of the overwhelming feeling of the visit, or whether it was because she displayed so much affection, he couldn't be sure. His breath held the foul taste of firewhiskey, but it was not an unpleasant taste on her palette. His heartbeat was wild and his palms sweaty. In vain he tried to keep his fixed composure, but with every deft nip of her mouth, he felt his resilience withering away.

Giving in was giving up. But what did he have to lose?

And then he slumped in defeat.

"Honestly." He began. "The things that you do to me, Hermione. Don't you ever worry me like that again. Drinking yourself to the point of oblivion...Even I'm not that bad."

She laughed softly.

"...you knew?"

"Weasley dropped by one day. She said she was going to hex me if I make you cry again."

"Ginny..."

He turned the full force of his gaze one her.

"Every single day I waited at that sodding cafe. We've only been meeting for a short while, but the way you're awkward and composed at the same time, the way you smile and your... intellectualism, and your intelligence...you know, there aren't many girls out there that are like that, you know?"

"I'm not as good as you think."

"You're better."

"Stop being so flattering."

"And besides." he paused. "The reason why you've come today is to tell me that you've decided to start living, right?"

After long and bated breath, she replied.

"Yes."

He smiled.

"Good. Because I've changed a hell of a lot for you, in more ways than one. And really..."

She kissed him.

There would be troubles of course. And she was scaered.

But...there was acceptance. So this is what acceptance felt like.

She felt his lips moving against hers, his hands circling her waist, his breath on her neck...

And she thought that she'd let herself go, occasionally, just to love like this. Just to be this.

Just occasionally. They'd take it slow, wouldn't they?

Because we all have stories to tell. This is their story.

* * *

><p><em>fin.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It's finally finished! As always, review please :) (ending might be a little anti-climatic. Sorry readers.) **


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